


Don't Let me Die a Virgin!

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Loss of Virginity, Oral, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: From a kinkmeme prompt. Originally, this was posted in my Sizzle! Burn! Steam! collection, but since it is a bit more fluffy than the oneshots contained in that collection of unashamed smut, I decided to post it independadly. Virginal Hawke is tired of being a virgin. So, she asks one of her companions to help her. Enter Fenris.





	Don't Let me Die a Virgin!

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt:  
> After many, many near-misses, Hawke begins to freak out about her mortality. There are a lot of things she still hasn't done/experienced, but the one pressing on her mind the most lately is her still-intact virginity.  
> Spurred by anxiety and convinced she has no romantic prospects, she appeals to one of her dearest male friends (major preference for Fenris, but I wouldn't say no to Anders or Cullen). It takes some convincing/rationalising/intense introspection, but said friend agrees to relieve her of her virginity.  
> I'd like if Hawke is sweet and happy, but generally pretty closed-lipped about such personal matters (looking for awkwardness!). I don't mind if she and the guy have repressed feelings for each other, or if they don't and what starts as a friend helping a friend turns into something more. Just no rivalry please.  
> Super sweet, super hot, both, I don't mind!

 

Varric sighed. “So, how hurt did she get this time?”

“Nothing Anders couldn’t fix,” Isabela replied, winding a thin bandage over a gash in her upper forearm. “The dragon used her as a chew toy, and then tossed her to her babies. Other than that, she’s peachy.” She frowned and gestured to Varric to help her, but the dwarf just ignored her, taking another swill of ale.

“What’s with this woman, honestly?” Varric face palmed himself. “She _nearly_ dies twice a week, and _almost_ dies every other day.”

“A little help here?” Isabela demanded. “Anders didn’t have any juice left in him to fix me up.”

“That bad?” Varric asked, then gave her a bored look. “It’s barely a scratch, Rivaini, I think you can manage.”

Isabela puffed and then started redoing her bandage.

“Sure as daylight, that girl’s luck will run out one day. She’ll be seriously dead then.”

“Really? What was your first clue? This week’s three almost fatal injuries or last week’s?” Varric laughed.

* * *

Hawke moaned and tried to find a comfortable position on the bed. Getting chewed up was never fun. Neither was being run through, shot with arrows until she resembled a pincushion, being set on fire or clobbered over the head; they had all happened within this last week.

She moaned again. Anders was a wonderful healer, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt. Her whole body was sore, Maker, she felt as if she had been put on the rack and tortured.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t skilled, or a powerful mage. She had even picked up some tricks with swords and knives from her companions; it wasn’t that she was careless, either.

Bad shit just seemed to fly her way.

Fenris walked in, and sat by the bed. She shot him a pitiful look and he just shook his head, the silvery-white bangs of his hair shading his eyes. “Hawke, you have to start being more careful. Even that abomination of yours cant heal the dead.”

“I know...” She shivered a bit. It was becoming more and more apparent to her that she was probably not going to die of old age. If she continued getting hurt at this rate she wouldn’t probably see the new year, to be precise.

Her pouty mouth turned downwards in a bitter smile. To the Void with it all, she didn’t want to die; there were so many things she hadn’t done, too many things to live for.

She looked to the handsome elf that had settled in the armchair next to her bed and was regarding her with a frustrated expression. He was a friend, a good friend. She had struggled to win his trust, to make him warm up to her, and now he was like an older brother to her. She closed her eyes on a disappointed sigh; she had hoped for something more, but he hadn’t been interested, that was clear.

No one ever had.

Anders was kind and tender towards her, Sebastian was polite and courteous, Fenris treated her like a little sister.

No one had seen her as a woman.

She had tried flirting with every single one of them, but her efforts had been pitifully unsuccessful. Anders had just laughed, Sebastian hadn’t even understood what she had been implying and Fenris had ruffled her short hair and smiled. Good thing he hadn’t told her to run along and play now, because that would have broken her.

Why couldn’t one of them have wanted her a little? She wasn’t unattractive. She was quite a looker, if she might say so herself. And she wasn’t stupid, or socially inept, or unlikable.

Just incredibly shy about her personal matters.

Hawke looked at the elf, who smiled, a bit uncertain at the suddenly determined look that crossed her face. A raised eyebrow conveyed an unspoken question but she closed her eyes and didn’t reply; she couldn’t, as the idea that had formed in her mind was enough to make her blush without speaking it aloud.

She was tired of being a virgin. She wanted to know how it was like to feel a man inside her, to cradle a lover between her thighs, to have his seed spilling inside her. She was tired of waiting of that one special man who would come sweep her off her feet.

She would ask one of her friends to help her.

 _Maker help me_ , she thought, _but I will **not** die a virgin_.

* * *

“You want me to what?!” Fenris whirled around from the library shelf, the book he had been looking at slipping through his fingers and tumbling to the floor.

She stood in the middle of the room, feet firmly planted together, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. He face was beetroot red, but her yes were steady and her adorable chin was raised high in determination.

“I don’t want to be a virgin anymore,” she said in that calm, sweet voice of hers, the voice that he had come to associate with care and safety. “I want you to deflower me.”

Only one glass of wine, and he was already hearing things...She couldn’t possibly have said what his ears had thought they had heard. But she had...she had, in that little awkward, prim voice of hers, with that proud tilt of her chin, with uncertainty and vulnerability lurking in her blue eyes. His body wasted no time rising to the challenge, but he chose to pay no heed to it. “Why?” he gruffly asked, trying to hush the voice in his head screaming to not be a fool and go for it.

“What do you mean why?” she blushed even more if that was even possible. “How many men would question a proposal like this?”

He stalked towards her like a big, dangerous cat. “Plenty. Talk. Why? Why me?”

She took a step back  her eyes avoiding him a s came to stand directly in front of her. “I have nothing to say. You either want to or not,” she snuck a look at him and then her head hung down. “It is obvious you don’t, so let’s just forget I ever...”

“Hawke...” his voice rumbled in his chest in that little threatening tone that he used when he was frustrated with her.

Her lip pouted in that little adorable way of hers, making him wonder for the millionth time how it would feel like to touch his tongue to that full, pink lip,  to sink his teeth on it and worry it until she let her mouth fall open and...he shook his head, trying to stop the errand thoughts before he embarrassed himself. His breath was already quickening at the mental image.

“All right,” she said, and then looked away. Her finger twisted together. “I am not exactly...an object of lust,” she said in a barely audible voice.

“That’s not tr..”

“It is. It is true,” she sharply said, her eyes snapping to his again. “No man has ever paid attention to me.  I’m practically a little sister to you.”

Fenris stopped in his tracks, too shocked to even respond to that. She had thought he wasn’t interested? Maker, how blind could a woman be? He was sure he had given her plenty of signs, but all she had seemed to want of him was friendship. So he had settled for being her best friend, if that was the only way he could be a part of her life. He just had to be able to be near her, to smell her, touch her, see her every day; even if that caused him agony.

Was she daft?

“I don’t blame you,” she continued, her voice even more quiet now. “I’m not really anything exciting to look at... And that’s the problem.” Her eyes found his again, a pleading look in them. “I am 24 years old. The way I see it, I probably won't live long. I could die any day, I almost have, more times than I can count. I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like to make love, Fenris.”

He didn't know what to say. He was quite certain that if he told her she excited him and always had, since the first day he had met her, that the mere thought of being her lover had him as hot and bothered as a randy teenager, she'd accuse him of making fun of her and send him away. He could hardly believe it, but the ring of truth in her tone convinced him she wasn't joking. Hawke was sweet and caring, attractive in a way that sexy, brazen women like Isabela never could be, breathtakingly beautiful with such inner beauty that only made her even more desirable - and she thought she was plain. Plain. He couldn't believe it.

His mind was warring with his body. Suddenly feeling faint with both desire and the amazing weight the decision was putting on him, he run his hands though his hair and took a deep breath.

“Why me?” he asked.

Her lip started trembling. “You don’t want me,” she said, and turned her back at him,  to avoid the humiliation of him seeing her eyes well up. “It’s okay, Fenris,” she said, a sob clearly heard in her  voice. “Can we just forget I ever brought this stupid thing up? I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”

He felt like he had been slapped. He should be slapped. Here was this amazing woman, the object of his deepest, darkest fantasies, offering herself to him and he could find the guts to take her up on her offer. Maker, would she make the same offer to Anders next, or even to Sebastian? A wave of possessiveness rose up to nearly choke him at the thought. No. he couldn’t live with that. He just couldn’t. Hawke was his. His, damn it.

But then his insecurities won. Would accepting destroy the only meaningful relationship he had ever managed to establish? Would their friendship be destroyed after he had lain with her? What if she didn’t want anything else to do with him afterwards? What if she did?

“Can I...can I have some time to think about it?” he asked.

He shoulders dropped.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not? With any luck, I won't die until you decide.”

 

* * *

Luck had never been her strong suit. Just two days afterwards, two days filled with awkward sidelong glances, they were standing in front of the Arishok in the Viscount’s Keep.

Said Viscount had just been separated from his head.

The Arishok’s voice was still  booming in his ears, his request for a duel with Hawke making his head spin. She had refused to surrender Isabela to the Qunari, and now she was going to battle the huge behemoth, one of the finest warriors in all of Thedas.

Maker, she was going to die.

She turned to him then, her eyes a bit sad but determined, and she just smiled at him.

“Looks like I will die a virgin after all,” she whispered to him.

He nearly grasped her there and then and dragged off to a room to take her against the wall. But it was a little too late for that.

Calling himself ten kinds of stupid, he just stood there, stunned, while she kissed him gently on the cheek and then turned towards the Arishok.

He found his voice then and called out gently to her, not caring that the small crowd of their companions was watching them with bated breaths.

“Marian,” he used her name and his breath caught at the delicious intimacy of calling her with her given name. His hand slipped through her hair and he pulled her towards him, their lips meeting in a chaste kiss for the first time.

He cupped her face, looked deep into her shocked eyes and growled, “Survive this. Stay alive, Marian,” his voice dropped to a husky murmur, “and then you’re mine. One night or twenty, or forever. Just survive this.”

She smiled, brilliantly, happily, and his heart that had been beating like a drum in fear settled down.

She was going to. Survive. And then become his.

* * *

Anders left her side, being supported by Aveline, his mana completely drained. He met Fenris at the door and the elf raised a questioning eyebrow, his voice too thin to actually ask.

“She’ll survive...” Anders muttered. “I did all I could.”

Fenris bowed his head in silent thanks, a huge sigh of relief leaving his chest.

Just as he was going in, Anders raised his head again and shot him a tired but mischievous half smile.

“I recommend waiting at least...three days. At least.”

Fenris felt blood rush to his cheeks and growled to hide his embarrassment. He pushed past the mage, into the room Hawke was recuperating in.

“Lucky bastard...” Anders murmured.

Fenris smiled, unseen by the mage.

He was, wasn’t he?

Now all he had to do was survive the lust attacking his body while she grew strong enough for him.

* * *

She woke up late at night, surrounded by darkness, and moaned. Again. This was getting old. How many times had she woken up in her own bed this last month, moaning in pain?

For once, just once she would have liked to wake up moaning for a completely different reason.

At that thought, she remembered Fenris’ promise, and her whole body got infused with heat and happiness. He had agreed to...Maker. She couldn’t wait.

 As if her thoughts had conjured him up, he appeared next to her bed. Now that her eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness in the room, his lithe, lanky silhouette was more than easily recognized. He slipped a hand under her shoulders and helped her up, then brought a glass of water to her parched lips.

She clutched onto his hand, drinking down greedily, before falling back down with a sigh.

“Anything else?” he asked, his voice soft in the darkness.

She nodded no, then realised he probably couldn’t see her and whispered it too.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes.  Just a little sore.”

He leaned over her, his voice a low, husky murmur that sent heat down her spine. “Are you too sore for a kiss?”

“No. Never too sore for a kiss,” she sighed, and before the words had left her, his mouth had found hers.

“Do you know,” he whispered as his tongue lightly traced the fullness of her lower lip, making her gasp, “how long I have wanted to know how you taste,” his teeth nipped her slightly, “right here?”

She opened her mouth for him, giving in to the pressure of his tongue and teeth, and he abandoned his slow, cautious caresses to plunge his tongue into her soft, wet mouth and taste the sweetness she so generously offered. Hawke moaned into his mouth, making his blood nearly sizzle in his veins. He moaned her name, brought a hand up to tangle in her hair and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers, teaching her and ravaging her at the same time.

Despite her inexperience she went boneless underneath him, surrendering all control to him and he felt a heavy rush of pure male possessiveness go through him and tighten his body like a bow. She was a quick study, and he let himself imagine how he would enjoy teaching her how to enjoy her innate sensuality before finding his senses and reluctantly pulling away.

She made a little distressed sound, trying to keep the contact between them, and he chuckled, charmed and flattered that she wanted him so.

“You are in no position, Hawke,” he kissed her cheek. “Get better soon for me.”

Just the incentive her body needed to speed up its recovery.

Anders came to check up on her the next day and found her doing exceptionally well. He allowed  her to sit in the garden for a while and Fenris had actually lifted her up in his arms and carried her there, amid snickers and winks from her rogue companions, Varric and Isabela, that had come to visit the new Champion of Kirkwall.

When they left, he sat on the bench next to her,  and slowly, hesitantly, interlaced his fingers with hers. She nearly gasped in surprise and looked up at him, only to find him staring at her with eyes fogged by desire, a predatory look on his face.

She responded by leaning in and kissing him herself; he moaned and cupped her face and the kiss instantly deepened to the point where they couldn’t draw breath unless it was shared.

He slipped his mouth down her jaw line, nipping and licking, and she sighed in total bliss, throwing her head back to give him better access.

“I have been thinking of this all day,” His voice was a low growl. "About how you made that little sound in your throat." He paused, so close that she could feel the sweet whisper of his breath against her cheek. "I want to hear that noise again," he murmured against the tender juncture of neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to bruise and then laving the sting with his tongue.

 He drew back and looked at the mark that was slowly darkening her skin with smug pleasure in his eyes.

“There,” he said. “I’ve marked you.” He smiled at her wide, stunned expression. “You are mine now.”

She smiled then and without any warning she slid her mouth over his throat, over his lyrium lines and sank her teeth in the straining tendon of his neck. She licked the sting away, kissing the spot tenderly, and chuckled against his skin, deliriously happy at the sounds of pleasure he was making.

“There,” she echoed his words. “I’ve marked you too.”

 Fenris growled. “Good,” he moaned as his mouth captured hers again. “And tomorrow, my little Hawke, I’ll take what is mine.”

She moaned and wrapped her arms around him as the kiss became an inferno ready to consume her.

“I can’t wait.”

* * *

Night came and he still hadn’t come to her. Had he changed his mind? Feeling disheartened and disappointed, Hawke settled down to sleep, although she knew she wouldn’t be able to.

Not until she had a good cry, at least.

Hours later, once her tears had dried up, curled up in a little ball of misery, she was suddenly jerked out of her light doze by the sensation of the mattress dipping under another person’s weight.

She jerked upright, only to have Fenris leave a soothing shushing sound and give her a slight caress on her cheek.

“Where were you?” she erupted, her anxiety and misery making her instantly boiling angry.

“I was injured,” he explained. “Aveline had need of me and...”

“Are you alright?” she started running her hands over him in anxiety, trying to find any injuries.

“Yes,” he captured her hands and kissed both her palms. “Anders healed me.”

She let a relieved sigh, and then her body tensed up once she realised, from the rustle of leather, that he was taking off his armour and clothes.

“What are you doing?” she asked, hating herself for how scared her voice sounded.

His mouth found hers in the dark, the now familiar taste and the pleasure of his kiss instantly dulling her fear and turning her into warm putty in his hands.

“I am joining you,” he answered and she had no chance to protest that if he was injured there was need to rush, before he slipped between the covers, drew her body flush onto his and sighed contentedly.

He was asleep the next breath he took, his body going lax against hers, and she smiled before settling her head on his shoulder and letting sleep claim her too.

* * *

She woke up with something hard poking her in the stomach and she reached her hand down, half asleep. She encountered something hot and hard and incredibly soft, almost velvety; instinctively she wrapped her hand around it.

“You are playing with fire, Hawke,” he heard a sleepy, husky voice murmur in her ear and she jerked awake to find herself staring into Fenris’ soft green eyes. A smile, cheeky and mischievous, spread on his face and he nodded downwards. Startled, she followed his gaze, to see her hand wrapped around his erection; her eyes grew wide and she pulled her hand as if it was burned.

 _Maker, it is huge_ , she thought. _How is this thing going to fit inside me_?

It was her last conscious thought as Fenris pounced on her, kissing her like there was no tomorrow, drinking from her in the deep, bruising kisses she had come to love.

She gave herself up to the sensation of his body touching hers, his lean, hard muscles meshing with her softer curves like two pieces of a puzzle. She was on fire for him, her body singing under his touch, her senses totally under his control. A soft touch and she gasped; a kiss and a lick and she moaned; a gentle nip and she shuddered and trembled, pleasure racking her.

He wasn’t unaffected, far from it if the soft grunts and moans every new discovery brought. When her breasts had been bared to his roving eyes, he had left an agonised prolonged moan before taking her nipple deep in his mouth and suckling her; when he had discovered the humid heat between her thighs he had closed his eyes and hissed as if his fingers had been dipped in boiling water. She was just as hot, and just as wet.

Her hand found him again and he could feel her trepidation in the slight trembling of her fingers as she measured him and then she tried to mask it by softly giggling.

“Dear Maker!” she gasped running her fingers shyly from tip to base. “And you intend to put that where exactly?”

Fenris drew a deep breath and struggled to keep himself still as her fingers grew bolder, stroking him now with inexperienced eagerness. He curled his own hand around hers and showed her how to touch him and then leaned back on his elbows, allowing her the liberty to touch and play, trying all the while not to have a pleasure-induced stroke.

“Trust me,” he murmured huskily, as she looked at him, her eyes as wide as saucers. “We will fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle.”

She gave him a little disbelieving look before shocking him out of his mind by leaning down and running her tongue over the  tip, gathering the pearly drop of precum that had escaped him.

“Maker, Hawke!” he groaned. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

She chuckled and returned to his torso, licking and nipping down his chest, flicking her tongue over his flat male nipple.

“It’s not my fault,” she murmured. “You look so...delicious.”

His control snapped and he eagerly turned her on her back, settling his weight between her creamy thighs. Slipping a hand down her centre, he found her slick, ready for him, hot and deliciously wet. His mouth watered, but if he stopped to taste her now he knew he would never be able to hold on enough to take her; every nerve along his spine was already tingling in preparation for his climax.

He tried to reign in his raging lust for just a second, to reassure her with wet, incredibly intimate kisses, his hands running all over her body and petting her luscious curves. She murmured her need to him, and he could wait no longer. He knew that he had to bring her pain before he could bring her pleasure, and taking his pulsating erection in hand he positioned himself at her untried opening, before using his mouth to torment one budding nipple. She arched up to him once more and he used the chance to claim her in one steady, sure thrust, tearing through the flimsy barrier of her innocence.

He held himself still, breathing deeply through clenched teeth, while she writhed underneath him, her tight, hot sheath pulsating around him in an effort to get used to the harsh invasion. Every flutter was like a kiss against his heated flesh, every movement her hips made was pure torture.

“Oh, my...” she dreamily said when the pain and the pinching discomfort finally eased, and she moved her hips experimentally, arching up to take him in more completely. Fenris hissed and held himself poised above her, knowing that the moment he started moving all reason would go flying through the window and he would transform into a wild beast; he wanted her to be ready for him.

“Move,” she said, her voice urgent.

Sweat broke over his body. “No,” he begged, desperation in his voice. “Give it a little more time, sweetness...Please. It will get better in a moment, I promise. Just...ahhh. A little more.”

“No,” she purred and wrapped her legs around his waist, making him slip even further inside her with a needy groan that rumbled in his chest. “Don’t move away..move inside me.”

He cursed luridly and then complied, erupting into movement, pounding her like no tomorrow. She nearly screamed her pleasure when the deep, brutal strokes hit against her the entrance to her womb, whimpered and writhed as the relentless rhythm sent her spiralling higher and higher, until with a hoarse cry she came and bathed him in her heat, warmth gushing over his length like a caress.

She moaned his name, a long, tortured sound and she shattered once again, twice more, her tight channel squeezing him like a fist, until he could take no more and with a series of harsh groans he let himself go and spilt his essence in her welcoming depths.

Trembling, his whole body bathed in sweat, he collapsed against her and kissed her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him, purring like a satisfied kitten.

“Good fit,” she sighed and he chuckled, more than content, his body lax and satisfied, his heart huge in his chest.

“Perfect fit,” he countered and closed his eyes.

He rose a little later to get a warm wash rag and clean her and himself up, his eyebrows furrowing at the blood that stained the rag.  She barely moved, murmuring in her sleep; relentlessly, he opened her thighs and cleaned her up, the sight of the blood mixing with the seed he had pumped into her instantly driving him hard again. He regretted having caused her pain but he couldn’t help the incredibly male pride that went through him at the thought he had been her first lover, that he had been the first to breach the pink gate to her womanhood.

He bend his head to her, closing his eyes as he inhaled the musky scent they had made together, and run his tongue gently along her folds, tasting her unique sweetness. She moaned in her sleep and instinctively opened up her stance even more.

Fenris smiled. That was an invitation if he had ever seen one.

He looked up to her to see her eyes open a slit, looking at him with both embarrassment and desire tingeing her high cheekbones.

“Again?” she asked, breathlessly.

“Again,” he growled, burying his face against her flesh.

“Maker, you will kill me at this rate...” she moaned and then shrieked as his tongue hit the spot she needed him to.

“At least you won’t die a virgin,” Fenris murmured and she laughed.

 

 

 

 


End file.
